Trouble Is Her Only Friend
by heythereanna
Summary: We're experts at sabotaging our own happiness. Feeling like victims, when in fact it's the choices we make, the bad habits, the vices, the inability to show love and compassion. We're not victims. We're assassins when it comes to love.
1. Are We Falling Or Flying?

**Title: **Trouble Is Her Only Friend**  
>Author:<strong> heythereanna (Anna)  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Brooke/Nate**, **Rachel/Chuck**  
>Summary:<strong> **  
>Rating:<strong> MATURE; Language, Adult Content **  
>Disclaimer: <strong>I own absolutely nothing, even though I wish I could take Mark Schwahn's position and remake seasons four through eight of One Tree Hill. :P **  
>Special Thanks: <strong>To my beloved **Chelle** for all of the help and advice for this. I couldn't have gotten back to writing without you.  
><strong>Author's Note: <strong>A few things to be alerted of: Peyton, Lucas, and Brooke all went to Duke together, Victoria and Bart Bass are married, Chuck and Brooke are stepsiblings, Clothes over Bro's has not been created yet, Rachel went to New York after being expelled.

_- - - - _x - - - -

"_But one of these nights you're gonna realize it; I'm the guy for you Brooke Davis. You'll see._"

Brooke remembered the first time she ran away.

She had been eight, maybe nine years old. Her mother and father had been fighting over his most recent scandalous affair, not that she knew what that or what "scheming gold digging whore" meant at the time. She had quietly snuck out of the kitchen with a blanket and a box of Lucky Charms while Victoria screamed at her husband, the sound of breaking china the last thing the little girl had heard as she bolted from her home.

She had gone to the park. It was her favorite place to go, where she ran whenever Victoria started on another undeserved rampage. She played on the monkey bars, let herself fly off the swings, laid on the grass and watched the clouds move ever so slowly across the oh so blue sky, sat in the fake pirate ship and pretending that she was a princess who had given up her crown to marry a poor sailor. She must have hid in that very ship for hours, eyes squeezed tightly shut as she imagined her own little fairytale and blocked out the rest of the world. It was her own personal little slice of heaven as she escaped the horror of the Davis household.

Nathan Scott had finally found her there the next morning when he'd come to the park with Tim and Jake to play a game of basketball. She had fallen asleep somewhere amidst her daydreams, curled up in a ball with her blanket wrapped around her and the now opened box of Lucky Charms in her arms. They must have stood in front of her for at least ten minutes as she silently sucked her thumb in her sleep, trying to figure out if they should wake her up or not. It wasn't until more people started showing up that Nathan finally ran to a phone booth and called his dad, who drove over immediately and happily brought her back home to a very angry Victoria and Richard Davis, who had only just noticed that their daughter was missing.

_"Sometimes, I just wish you could rescue me." "From what?" "From everything."_

But that had been ten years ago, back when she didn't have access to her trust fund or her six credit cards, which she gladly would have used back then to get her the hell out of Tree Hill. Back when Peyton was her best friend who would never betray her, when no one really cared who Lucas was, when Nathan was her regularly scheduled play date, when she believed in happily ever after's and knights in shining armor. Now, she was nineteen years old and had all of the money in the world at her disposal; Peyton was the traitorous whore who was marrying Lucas, she and Nathan had fucked on more than one occasion, and Lucas was the so called perfect boy who had wound up breaking her heart in the end.

There's only one thing that had still remained the same, even after all this time: she wanted to run away. And now, there's no one there to bring her back home. Not Dan, not her now divorced parents, not her so-called best friend. No one.

Maybe it was because they finally understood that she needed to leave, or she wouldn't survive another day at Duke. She had barely been able to see Fauxdilocks and Broody doing their whole indie rocker thing, stomping on her fragile little heart with every one of their kisses, every one of their lingering gazes across the room, every single fucking thing they did. But now, they were _engaged_. In exactly ten months, Peyton Elizabeth Sawyer would say I do to Lucas Eugene Scott and live happily ever after with the boy Brooke had thought was her prince charming. Peyton, the girl who had destroyed her world, was now hijacking her perfectly dreamed up fairytale, news which had made her so sick to her stomach that the second she had heard, she had run to the nearest bathroom and hurled up her guts.

_"The difference? The difference is I love you, Brooke. I want to be with you, not Peyton."_

She stared at the neon sign of incoming and outgoing flights in Tree Hill Airport, snapshots of her ill fated relationship going through her head. The words were blurring together into a stream of green and red, the tears making it near impossible to see past their wall of cloudy gloss as she sat in the gate. It was late, her flight having been scheduled at three thirty in the morning, but she was still tragically attempting to hold it together, a failed endeavor at that. As she held it all in, she'd resorted to praying that some part of her would wake up and remind her that Lucas Scott wasn't worth her tears, that this had been expected, that she had been the one to give him up because she knew deep in her heart that he loved Peyton. She had loved him with every ounce of her being, and how had he repaid her? He'd gone and fallen in love with her best friend, leaving her in their wake of destruction, or "true love always" as carved on Peyton's closet door.

She stood up, smoothing out the fabric of her jeans as she felt her phone go off in her pocket. It's Peyton, no doubt; she had called six times today alone, and another twelve the day before. Apparently, she didn't quite grasp the concept that when you decided to marry best friend's ex, you became nothing to the person. But she pulled it out anyway, opening it up and hanging it up without a word. She wasn't interested in talking to her peroxide blonde ex-friend anymore, nor was she all too excited to talk to Lucas either. The last thing she wanted to do was hear his angelic voice, mostly because the sound of it pulled at her heartstrings more than anything else she'd ever heard in her life. She didn't want to be convinced not to leave, especially not when she knew the heartache that awaited her if she did. Of course, she had let Haley and Nathan know that she was leaving, but not before forcing them to agree that they wouldn't tell anyone where she was, especially Lucas. They had cried, they had pleaded. But her mind is set, the ticket was bought, the bags were packed, and the plans made. Her hometown holds far too many bad memories for her liking, and she's far too tired of hurting. She was utterly and completely done with all of it.

_"I'm not pushing you away, Lucas; I am holding on for dear life, but I need you to need me back! Why wouldn't you tell me about the kiss, and why didn't you call me when you were away? And why won't you ever just let me all the way in?"_

She was barely breathing as she walked up to the gate's entrance with her carry on, her suitcases already on the plane. She was trembling like the weak and vulnerable girl that she had become, biting down on her lower lip as she fumbled with the ticket in her hands, all the while swaying back and forth because she couldn't stand still without crumbling to pieces. She took one last look at the sign, as if saying her final goodbye to the town she had reluctantly called home for the last nineteen years, before pulling in a shaky breath. Sniffling quiet, she turned back to the woman that stood so cheerily behind the counter, awaiting the passengers of the jet.

She felt a bitter laugh rise from her throat at the words she had chosen for the flight attendant. Cheery: the adjective that _he _had used to describe her once upon a time.

"Checking in?" The flight attendant said with the sweetest of smiles.

Handing her the ticket, Brooke nodded weakly, completely drained of emotion. She hadn't gotten any sleep since she heard news of the engagement, a fact obvious by her worn down and tuckered out appearance that was so unlike her that she could barely recognize her own reflection.

The woman looked down, almost frowning in disapproval at the title on the ticket. "One way? Honey, are you sure they gave you the right tic-"

"I'm sure." She interrupted icily, glaring at the woman before storming past her with the utmost grace, waiting until she got to her seat to mumble beneath her breath, "why would I ever come back here?"

_- - - - _x - - - -

He was in a business meeting regarding his acquisition of the Empire when Brooke called him. He was mid pitch, giving one of the best presentations of his life to his high profile business associates with his witty charm and devilish demeanor, when his assistant Mandy called out to him that Brooke Davis was on the line, and he dropped everything in a heartbeat. The two hadn't spoken since Thanksgiving, when Bart and Victoria forced them both to come to an overzealous banquet at The Plaza, since Brooke enrolled at Duke and he took over Bass Industries, but they had a bond between them that no amount of time could break, that nothing could possibly wound.

But one of his older colleagues comes barreling out into the hall, nostrils flared. "Chuck Bass, your ass better be back in that conference within the next ten seconds or-"

"Or what, Michael? You'll hire a doppelganger and tell my father that you couldn't get the job done with the real Chuck Bass because he had to take a phone call from my stepsister? I'm sure Bart and Jack would just love that." The skilled businessman snapped back, eyes bearing holes into the executive before he snatched his phone away from Mandy like the diva he truly was and pulls in to his ear, all whilst the board members stand there in anticipation. He glared them all down before answering, having never quite gotten over the devil in disguise title, but his expression quickly softened by the sound of sobs in the background. "Brooke?" Chuck asked into the phone, the quiet cries of his baby stepsister flowing over the line.

"I'm s-so sorry for c-calling, Chuck, b-but I...I didn't know who else to turn to..."

The sound of her breaking down was enough for Chuck to walk out of the meeting and into his office, trying to get some privacy from the ever watching members of his company. Their conversation wasn't something Michael or the secretary who was checking him out needed to know about, just him. "What happened?" He inquired into the phone softly, all the while listening to Brooke's sobs. Chuck would never admit it out loud, but every one of her excruciating wails wass like a rusty knife to his gut. There was nothing more painful than listening to Brooke cry, nothing.

"I need to g-get out of Tree Hill..." The whimpering Brooke Davis, a girl he had thought could handle anything, choked out over the phone. "I can't s-stay here anymore, I just-"

But Chuck interrupted her, not because he was being rude or because he was tired of the girl's tears, but because he felt tears of his own rising just from knowing that his stepsister was in that much pain. He knows how much it takes for the resilient Davis daughter to cry like this. Or even more importantly, to give in and run away. He didn't even need Brooke to tell her what happened. The urge to protect the girl that had become more of a sister to him than any of Bart's bastard children trumped curiosity, as it always had in their relationship. "Pack your things and get your fat ass on a plane to New York City. If you're not here within the next twenty four hours, I'll drag you up from that hellhole myself." Chuck ordered, fixing his hair in a nearby mirror as he prepared to go back to the meeting. Although he knew that he sounded like a complete asshole, he also knew that tough love was what the normally bubbly brunette needed, even though it's the last thing she wanted.

After a few moments of silence, the heart wrenching sobs turn into sniffles and relief washes over her as Brooke begins to calm down. "You would do that for me?"

"Oh god, don't tell me you're going to get all sappy on me." Chuck groaned in fake annoyance, chuckling softly. "Just get your ass on a plane, text me what time you're supposed to land, and we'll enroll you at NYU. I don't even know why you would have gone to Duke, it's positively wretch-"

"Thank you, Chuck."

The interrupting whisper was almost inaudible, but it stops him in his tracks. Saying thank you was as hard as I love you for Brooke, and he knew that. He didn't even bother scolding Brooke for interrupting him, simply smiling sadly.

"Anytime, Davis."

- - - - x - - - -

He waited outside of the gate of Brooke's flight exactly twelve hours later, his soon to be house guest having texted Mandy the details of her departure and arrival after she had bought the ticket. Normally Chuck would be throwing a fit about being awake anytime before nine, but there he was in the middle of JFK Airport at seven in the morning.

Why?

Because it was Brooke Davis who was coming off that airplane in t-minus five minutes, it was the only person who had ever given a damn about him in their fucked up little family. Promises had been made long ago that they would always protect each other, promises that they continued to keep.

Chuck tapped his foot impatiently as people begin to walk out of the gate, standing on the tips of his toes as he looks for his stepsister. Even with his face plastered across magazine covers, his title now CEO, and his name all over page six of the New Yorker, he was still the childish and quick tempered man he had always been. Except instead of slutty little Constance Billiard bred school girls following him around, he had the paparazzi stalking him in hopes of just getting a snapshot of him.

"Chuck?"

A quiet voice attracted his attention, his face paling in horror as he finally sees Brooke a few feet away. If she hadn't have spoken up, Chuck would have never noticed her, the girl before her barely even resembling his cheery stepsister. Her once infectious grin had dimmed to a faint hearted expression that barely even qualified as a smile, the dimples that accompanied it missing in action. The circles under her eyes were dark as night, indicating her exhaustion. Her normally perfectly styled and glossy long brown waves were unkempt, messily pulled back, a state which someone like the Brooke Davis he knew would have never approved of going out in public with. Even the way she moved was different, her graceful saunter having turned into a begrudged shuffle if anything.

But then again, this wasn't Brooke Davis, at least not the one who he knew. She was a ghost of her former self, a fragment of what she truly was, as she walked up to Chuck, practically collapsing into his strong arms. The young man felt paralyzed for a moment as he wrapped her in a tight hug, utterly speechless as he felt Brooke begin to cry as the tears fell upon the shoulder his perfectly tailored suit. They stood like that for what seemed like hours, Brooke clinging to him for dear life as Chuck felt tears spring to his own eyes, both the only sailors left upon the sinking ship that was known as Brooke Davis's life.

Finally, Chuck pulled back, his arm still around Brooke's shoulders as she sniffled softly, eyes puffy and red from crying. Smiling sadly, he brushed the stray hairs from Brooke's face before pressing a kiss to her forehead, leading towards the doors as he murmured the only words that he thought would comfort his stepsister in that moment.

_"Let's go home, baby sister."_


	2. A Brave New World

Four days.

It had been four whole days since Chuck brought her back to his penthouse at the Empire, and during those ninety-six hours, she hadn't come out of her bedroom. Not to eat, not to talk to him, not to do anything. All she did was sleep, the curtains in her room firmly pulled shut while she hid beneath the covers and remained in her own little world. She couldn't remember the last time she had actually slept through the night, and now, that was all she did.

Chuck had been rather silent about the whole matter, a fact that she was grateful for. The last thing she wanted to do was spill her guts regarding why she had called him, especially now with her phone constantly going off with calls from either Lucas or Peyton. As scary as the idea of talking to Chuck about all of this was, the very thought of hearing Luke's voice on the other end of the line made her heart stop in her chest.

But as she closed her eyes, desperate to escape into her depression-induced slumber, she couldn't help but remember the last time that she'd seen Lucas.

_Her heart thudded in her chest as she stood before the door of Peyton and Lucas's home, biting down hard on her lower lip as she knocked on the oaken door. She had just barely mustered up the courage to come there, to face her fears and say what needed to be said. It wasn't going to be easy, but the words had to come out of her mouth before they ate her alive. If she wanted to salvage any part of her friendship with Peyton, then it had to be done._

_It was the courtesy she had never been given by Peyton herself, but Brooke had to believe that she was the better person, and that kissing Lucas had just been a simple mistake that didn't need to be read into at all. A drunken, wonderful and amazing mistake that had incurred after one too many vodka tonics and nostalgic stories of their prior relationship._

_A mistake that she wished had never happened, but somehow, at the same time, wanted to happen again and again until she couldn't feel her lips anymore._

_The door opened, and she looked up to find Lucas standing before her, her heart stopping from one look of those baby blue eyes as she gulped. Her hazel eyes were wide as they could be as she breathed out his name like it was the very oxygen she lived upon. "Lucas…"_

_He was left just as dumbfounded, and she couldn't help but feel hope spark within her as he whispered a quiet, "she's not here", and opened the door wider, silently ushering her in with a look of desperation and his hands shoved into his pockets. _

_She knew how bad this was, to be alone with him. The last time that she had been, they'd wound up against a wall in the bar they'd had their first date in, making out like they were seventeen again. "Luke…" She murmured softly. _

_"Just ten minutes. That's all I need." He whispered back, taking her hand. _

_She crumbled as her fingers laced through his, biting down on her lower lip as he continued to plead._

_"Please, Brooke."_

_Reluctantly releasing his hand, she walked into the house, wringing her hands as she did so. "Look Luke, I just came to-"_

_"Tell Peyton that we kissed and how big of a mistake it was and that it meant nothing." He finished, his blue eyes bearing into hers. God, why did he have to have such gorgeous blue eyes? Why could they be some undetermined color that she couldn't stand, rather than the ocean of blue that she felt herself drowning in whenever he looked at her?_

_She nodded, sitting down on the couch. Her heart was so heavy from the guilt that she could barely stand, running her hands through her hair. "How could we do this, Lucas? How could _I _do this?"_

_He sat down beside her, shaking his head. "This isn't your fault, this isn't anyone's fault…it just…happened."_

_She met his gaze, tears filling her eyes. "Things like this don't just happen! They never do!" She cried out angrily, standing up. _

_She never wanted any of this, to feel like this after all of this time. God, it had been two years since she had even been with Luke, and now she couldn't get him out of her head. He was in her thoughts, her dreams, her fantasies. Lucas Scott was the only man she'd ever loved, and now he was with Peyton, and she was falling in love with him all over again._

_He stood up with her, pulling her into his arms as he tried to calm her down. But she shoved him away, slapping him as hard as she possibly could._

_"This is your fault! None of this would have happened if you hadn't of kissed me!" She screamed in his face, shoving him again as he stumbled backwards. "You stupid fucking asshole, I hate your guts! I hate your fucking guts and I wish you'd nev-"_

_His lips crashed against hers like a tsunami once more, surprising her beyond belief as tears ran down her rosy cheeks. For a moment, she let herself go, her lips kissing him back hungrily and passionately as he cupped her cheeks. But as reality set in and she remembered what she was doing, she forcefully shoved him back once again._

_"Stop doing that!" Brooke snapped, wiping at her tears furiously. She was so tired of being played with by him, of having her heart toyed with like a plastic doll that was so easily thrown about to and fro, like it wasn't nearly as breakable as it truly was. And now he was doing it again._

_"Then stop pushing me away!" Lucas roared, the anger and frustration obvious in his eyes. "It didn't mean nothing, it wasn't some fucking mistake! This is you and me we're talking about, it could never be a mistake!"_

_She hadn't seen him this angry since their fight in the rain over three years ago, when they were fighting over the same exact thing. Brooke had been pushing him away, just like she was now._

_He was fighting for her then, just as she'd pleaded years before for him to do, and he was fighting for her now as they stood in the middle of the room, no more than a foot away from each other, in silence._

_But as their eyes met, she realized that was why he was doing it. He loved her. He had loved her all this time, and he was finally owning up to it and making a decision, a decision of choosing her that he should've made all those months ago at the state championship when she had let him go. He had loved her every moment of every day, and she was finally seeing it._

_Brooke could barely breathe as their lips collided again, her arms wrapping around him as his hands ran over her body. The shame, the guilt, the pain was all gone as he pressed wet kisses to her cheeks, brushing away her tears as she gazed into his eyes with the utmost love and devotion. But it was as her head fell back against her shoulders and he whispered the words she'd always longed to hear from him that she melted into his body as if she'd always belonged there._

_"I love you so much, Brooke. I've always loved you…"_

She squeezed her eyes shut tight, tears searing down her cheeks as she remembered the feeling of his hands upon her skin, the taste of his kiss, every emotion that had run through her. She felt dirty, unclean in every way, like someone had doused her in the most gruesome material possible. It made her want to rip her own skin off, just to be able to rid herself of it. She had showered immediately when she found out he was marrying Peyton. But she still swore that she could still smell him on her skin, no amount of showers and scrubbing her skin raw able to make the memory of their bodies writhing together upon the sheets of his bed disappear from her mind.

The bed that he shared with Peyton, who he had proposed to the very next day, only hours after he had kissed her goodbye and told her he would see her after he ended things with her once best friend.

Only hours after he'd told her that they'd be together again, and that he loved her more than life itself.

"Brooke?"

The voice startled her, looking up from the bed to find Chuck in her doorway. The expression was nothing short of concerned as he immediately rushed to her side, wiping at her tears as he kneeled beside her. She was utterly amazed at how good he was being about all of this as he stroked her hair, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

"I slept with Lucas."

The admission was stark and to the point as she looked up at Chuck with the saddest eyes he had ever seen in his life. The guilt was consuming her, and the hardest part was hiding it – something that she could never do when it came to Chuck. He knew her best, he always had.

But it's the second confession that absolutely murdered her heart, sobs escaping her lips as she choked it out like it was poison.

"And he proposed to Peyton the morning after we did…and they're getting married…and I'm a fucking terrible person…"

Her silent weeping continued as he crawled into bed with her, finding sanctuary in his arms as they wrapped around him. She felt so pitiful as he held her, not used to keeping her feelings wide open to the world. Brooke was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be the selfless and independent college student. Not moping all over her stepbrother's apartment.

"You're not a terrible person." He told her as he stroked her hair lovingly. "In fact, you're quite the opposite, Miss Davis."

She wanted to laugh at the way he spoke, maybe make a snide comment about how New York had made him so posh and uppity, but she couldn't find the strength as she clung to him for dear life. Every inch of her hurt and all she wanted was to be comforted, even if it meant holding her tongue.

And in a very Basshole mannerism, he continued, "Besides, Lucas is a prick anyways. You've always deserved so much more than that podunk, trailer trash ba-"

"Chuck." She interrupted him with a raised hand. Regardless of every that had happened, she refused to sink to his level. Speaking ill of him wasn't going to do anything for her; it would just make her think of him.

He sighed. "You know that you're too good hearted for your own good, correct?"

"Can you just shut up and hold me for a little while?"

Her snappy comment silenced him, his arms holding her close. It had been far too long since she had felt safe with someone, and her stepbrother provided that. Safety, security, a family member she could actually count on. Though most saw the Bass heir as a complete and utter jackass, she had never seen him that way. He had always been there for her. No matter how many times she screwed up, however many times her mother threatened to cut her off, Chuck was always waiting for her with open arms and a limitless American Express card so she could cushion the blow with however many pairs of shoes she needed.

They sat that for what seemed like an eternity, him comforting her. Brooke finally broke the silence, smiling to herself softly.

"So, are you ever going to tell me why Blair isn't here?"

Chuck sighed, running a hand through his perfectly groomed hair. "She got married. She's an official princess of Monaco now. How fitting, right?"

She could hear the pain in his voice, biting her lower lip. "I'm sorry, Chuck. If it's any constellation, I never liked her."

"That's because she was rather like you."

"She was not! Blair Waldorf, the wicked bitch of the Upper East Side, and I are nothing alike!" Brooke scoffed, pouting.

He laughed softly, shaking his head. "Whatever you say sister. But it doesn't matter now, I've met someone else."

And as if on cue, they both turned their heads at the sound of the door unlocking and someone calling out to him.

"Chuck, I picked you up a suit from Gucci for that event next week. Remember I'm wearing an emerald dress so please attempt to match me..."

Brooke's eyebrows furrowed, recognizing the voice slightly, although she couldn't put a name to it. Whoever it was, it had paused, probably right around the time she saw Brooke's coat on the dining room table.

A sign, which any of Chuck's conquests would recognize as him cheating on them

Her eyes turned to the door, which flew open immediately, revealing a screaming girlfriend.

"Nine months, nine months and you go and chea-"

The voice ceased as Brooke and the girlfriend met eyes, the two freezing as they both recognized each other.

Because Brooke would recognize that fiery red hair and snappy tone anywhere on this earth, even if she hadn't seen the woman possessing both in years.

"You're sleeping with Rachel _fucking_ Gattina?" Brooke screamed in happiness, shoving Chuck off and jumping off of the bed.

"Slutbag!" Rachel screamed back as the two embraced, Brooke practically sobbing in happiness. They hadn't spoken since Rachel had gotten expelled on account of her - well, sort of expelled. It was a long story.

"Bitchface!" She choked out as the two laughed, holding onto each other tightly.

It was good for her to see a somewhat familiar face, someone that hadn't betrayed her as Peyton and Lucas had. It was a face of pregnancy scares, of blow out parties, of cheerleading competitions. Yes, they had hated each other at one point, but none of that mattered at that moment. Rachel was _there_, and more importantly, she was okay.

"Would someone care to fill me in..?"

The two girls turned to look at Chuck, who had been left dumbstruck on the bed as they had shared their moment. Brooke giggled, looking at Rachel and then back at her stepbrother.

"It turns out, brother, it's a small, small world."

- - - - - x - - - - - -

"So tell me, how did the fabulous Brooke Davis wind up in New York City?"

Brooke sat on an ottoman in a private dressing room Chanel as Rachel tried on a dress., sans Chuck, who had gotten a call from his assistant to remind him about a board meeting at Bass Industries. He of course asked Brooke if she would be okay without him, and she just smiled and nodded and said that Rachel was better company than he was anyway.

But the truth was, she wouldn't have been okay if he had stayed either.

And yet Rachel had somehow convinced her to come shopping for her, going on and on about a dress she had seen at Saks that she just _had_ to have or she'd die of fashion traumatization. But Saks had turned into all of Fifth Avenue faster than Brooke could say, "wow", which was normally she would have been giddy over.

Too bad she was too depressed to even give a fuck.

The brunette shrugged as she played with one of the Louboutin heels that Rachel had bought for her (with Chuck's black American Express card, the one with no limits), running her fingers along the black leather lacing that went up the back of the five inch heel as she desperately avoided the question. "I needed a change in scenery, I guess."

Rachel scoffed as she pulled up a little black dress, zipping it up and looking at herself in the mirror. "Don't bullshit a bullshitter, Brookie."

She glared at her. "What do you mean?"

"I'm saying that you can fool the fans all you want with your game, but you can't fool the players. Let's not forget that I ran off to New York right I got expelled, shall we?"

Her tone was brutally honest, which Brooke should have expected. After all, this was Rachel Virginia Gattina she was talking to; the queen of mean, the sultan of spite, the rabid bitch who she had once hated with the utmost passion. Rachel had never one to sugarcoat with rainbows and unicorns. She voiced her opinion, which was something that Brooke both admired and hated in that moment.

Sighing, Brooke set her shoe down, as if symbolically waiving the white flag with her heel. "I ran away, okay? From everything, from all of it." She said quietly, refusing to meet Rachel's ever bearing gaze.

But the red head didn't falter from her pursuit of Brooke's twisted tale that had lead them to this moment as she pulled off the dress.

"So I should really be asking, what did Lucas do this time?"

Brooke's gaze fell faster than a tsunami, crashing to the floor as fast as her heart did at the mention of her least favorite Scott son. Of course Rachel would know. She had been there the first (or should she say the second) time that things had collapsed in her shaking hands, when Lucas had rode off into the sunset with Peyton and Rachel had given her a place to stay. She had seen the damage that Lucas Scott could inflict upon her heart.

Another sigh escaped her as she finally met Rachel's stare.

"Please...not now."

The feeble plea that fell from her lips was enough to made Rachel's gaze turn from interrogative and all knowing to compassionate and caring. With the drop of a hate, she knew that Brooke was moments from breaking down into a million little pieces. One look was all it took, one look was all that was needed for her to understand every ounce of pain that her best friend was going through. It was as if they shared the same mind, the same heart, the same soul. When one hurt, the other felt it. When one cried, the other teared up. Gattina and Davis, best friends in conspiring, were essentially the same person. And it was then, more than any moment prior, that Brooke was ever so thankful for it.

"I'm going to kill him."

Brooke cringed, partly because she couldn't stand the thought of Lucas being hurt but mostly because she could see his face in her mind as Rachel spoke.

"Just stop, Rach." She begged, closing her hazel eyes as new tears formed in their corners. "He's the last thing I want to think about right now. I _can't_..."

"Does this dress make me look fat?"

The blatant change of subject relieve Brooke more than imaginable, opening her eyes and wiping away the tears before she answered with a simple, "no".

Rachel frowned, turning around. "Seriously, who the fuck are you and what have you done with my best friend."

She rolled her eyes, understanding that they were used to a more hostile relationship involving the banter of insults that never stopped, but Rachel kept pushing.

"No, I'm not kidding, who the _fuck_ are you, cause you're sure as hell not Brooke Davis."

Brooke's anger sparked slightly, but she kept it in control, the sadness mellowing it out. "Rach, knock it off."

She didn't.

"Cause I sure as fuck know that Brooke Davis wouldn't let some selfish dumbass like Lucas Scott," Brooke cringed again, but Rachel didn't halt, "get to her. In fact, she wouldn't even _allow_ herself to give a fuck about him after he had dumped her ass like last year's Seven jeans."

"Back off, Rachel!" Brooke snapped.

She sneered, shaking her head. "Fuck off, Davis. You should know better than to let him get under your skin, or at least I thought you did." Rachel took a step closer, getting into her face. Brooke can feel her anger boiling, bubbling at the seams as her fists clenched.

"But maybe you're still the weak little Brooke Davis that you were with him. In fact, I know you are! You're a _weak_, _cowardly_, _insecure_ _girl who's never going to be worth anything to anyone!" _

And then, Brooke Davis finally snapped.

The slap flew so fast that Rachel didn't even see it coming, and neither did Brooke for that matter. Her palm collided with the woman's cheek so hard that the crack could be heard in the store, breaking the sound barrier as Rachel recoiled.

"Fuck you, Rachel! Fuck you and all your self righteous _bullshit_! You don't get to criticize me, nobody does! That dress _does_ make you look fat; it makes you look just like the chubby little bitch you did before your surgeries! All you can do is sit there from your high horse and tell me I'm not the same? Well neither is your plastic coated ass and fake boobs that make you look like a god damn Frankenstein Barbie doll!"

Silence hung in the air as Brooke panted, the anger flowing like a drug as Rachel turned to look at her.

And then, suddenly, something happened that nobody could have expected.

They started laughing.

They laughed, and laughed, and laughed until tears came to their eyes and they wound up in a heap amidst silk dresses and blouses, cracking up over the fact that Brooke had just used Frankenstein as an insult. For just a moment, it was just like it had been a year ago, when everything made sense and they were inseparable. For the first time since she had left Tree Hill, Brooke felt something other than sadness.

She felt hope.

"Damn, do you know how to slap a bitch." Rachel panted out as she sat up.

Brooke laughed, looking over at her with a grin. "You asked for it."

"Anything to make you stop that pussy attitude."

"You let me hit you just to cheer me up?"

"Retail therapy didn't seem to be working, so I figured this would."

Brooke smiled, taking Rachel's hand. "You're pretty good at this best friend stuff, you know."

She shrugged smirking. "Just wait till you hear part two of cheering Brookie up."

Brooke let out another laugh, shaking her head. "Let me guess, boys and booze?" She joked, but knowing Rachel, that was probably what it was.

Rachel gave her a wicked smile as she finally picks out a blue number, zipping it up and giving herself a look of approval before handing Brooke a red v-neck dress for herself.

"You got it."

- - - - - x - - - - - -

After purchasing the red dress and returning to the Bass penthouse, Brooke was convinced by Rachel and Chuck to attend a party somewhere in city. They were a stubborn pair, she had to admit that as they stepped into the elevator of the building they'd entered, but both of them were perfect for each other. His calm demeanor balanced her temper, her snappy remarks were quipped by his snide returns; they were practically cut from the same cloth.

"Come on, Brooke. Put on a damn smile." Rachel said with a smirk, earning her a warning look from her boyfriend. But she simply continued with her lopsided grin and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"I would, but that would require me to not be nauseous from you sleeping with my stepbrother." Brooke snapped back, glaring at her. Why did she have to be so damn nice and agree to this? The last place she wanted to be was a party.

But then again, a party meant free booze, which meant she could drink until the room spun and she didn't know if she was in New York or Bora Bora.

Perhaps this was a good idea after all.

The door dinged, and the trio step out as Brooke tightened the ties of her trench coat. She could barely breathe as she took each step down the hallway, following her friends as they lead to her to her destination. It was as if every step was a silent prayer that she could do this, that no one would see past her loosely curled hair, her devilishly smoky eyes, her perfectly goddess like facade that she and Rachel had crafted with make up and false confidence.

"Who's place is this anyway?" Brooke asked as they stopped at the door.

Rachel smirked once more as Chuck opened the door, holding out her hand for her to take. "Does it even matter?"

Brooke smiled mischievously, taking Rachel's hand. "Does it ever?"

The two giggled, following Chuck into the room - or at least, what most _thought _was a room. It was something completely different to her, a portal into a different world. For years, Brooke had simply been Chuck's little stepsister, left at home while he partied into the night because she was far too young, far too precious for him to risk with his world of sex, drugs, and debauchery. But now, she was big girl who could handle herself. For a moment Brooke wondered if that was why Chuck had invited her, or if he was just scared that she might do something stupid if they left her alone.

And from the looks of the place, as her hazel eyes drank in every inch of the party, it was Wonderland to her. Of course Brooke had been to a few parties in her day, but _nothing_ like this. The place was packed from wall to wall, leaving only a few feet to navigate through. Smoke coated the air, which she breathed in gladly. She hadn't smoked since she used to steal Chuck's during summer break, and she missed it dearly.

"This is nothing, Brookie." Rachel called out over her shoulder as they lead her up a flight of winding stairs, the smoke only thickening as they rose higher and higher up the spiral. "The real party's upstairs; these are just the freaks that his sister invites over when she's bored..."

Brooke could barely hear her, but she noted that the freak part was true as she saw a guy hanging from the chandelier in nothing but a thong. She smirked bemusedly, turning away as the door to the second level of her rabbit hole opened and she was lead through as she and Rachel giggled.

"Ready for your close-up?" Rachel murmured as she dropped Chuck's hand, hooking arms with her as she shouted out to Chuck, who mentioned something about finding someone for something or other, "I'm going to find someone for your stepsister to sleep with!" before they fell into another fit of giggles.

The luxury of the second floor mirrored the craziness of the first, the whole place marble floored and opulently decorated. It looked like something out of an interior designer's dream, halting all speech. Brooke tried to take it in, but Rachel was leading her through the crowd so fast that she could barely get a good look at it. She had to remember tonight, she decided as they bob and weave to get to the bar, for tonight was a night that she would talk about for the rest of her life.

It was the night that she would rub elbows with the scoundrels and socialites of New York's young Upper East Side's monarchy.

Rachel mixed their drinks behind the bar; the sound of the bottles of various liquors clinking over the music that played throughout the penthouse while Brooke leaned against it, looking at herself in a mirror on the wall. The daringly low cut red dress that Rachel had picked out was stunning on her, hugging all of her curves in all of the right places. Red had always been her color, she noted, smiling to herself. She looked like the old Brooke, the one who never stepped down from a challenge, the one that confidence radiated from.

Maybe because tonight, and only tonight, she would play Cinderella and become that version of herself again.

"Drink this."

Like the Mad Hatter in her version of Wonderland, Rachel handed her a glass of something. Without even thinking, Brooke downed it, the bitter taste of tequila charring her throat. But her counterpart just grinned with amusement.

"There's my head bitch."

Brooke rolled her eyes once more as Rachel, who could only laugh, handed her a larger glass of what she could easily recognize as her favorite drink, a screaming orgasm. The two looked upon the party, the nostalgia floating in for a moment as Brooke was reminded of their queen days. She smiled to herself, taking a sip of her drink. She had ruled Tree Hill, and now, as the little sister of Chuck Bass, she was heir to the Upper East Side throne.

But there was a creeping up her spine, a shiver, as she felt as if someone was watching her. Her eyes scanned the room for her stepbrother, who was sure to be in tow somewhere, but he was nowhere to be found. So who on earth could be watching her so intently that it gave her goosebumps?

As if a higher power was at work, her eyes locked upon a matching set of ones so dark and midnight blue that it made Brooke's heart stop. She felt her entire body heat up as she caught his gaze, gulping as she felt her pulse begin race. He was devastatingly handsome, dangerously even, with his light brown hair swooshing across his piercing eyes and his god like features. A number of women had gathered around him, as if they were there to worship him; he paid little attention as he swirled his scotch. She felt her breath leave her as she gazed into his eyes; they drew her in like a magnet to metal, swallowing her whole with just one look. For a moment, she felt as if she was drowning in them, but remembered she was yards away from him.

"Rachel, who's the one with the groupies on the couch over there?" Brooke asked, gesturing over to him as his stare moved elsewhere.

Her friend frowned as she looked over at the man, shaking her head. "He's someone that you're not allowed to sleep with."

Brooke's brow furrowed, confused as ever. She felt like she was falling down the rabbit hole all over again, only getting bits and pieces of the world that her stepbrother had waltzed her into. "Why?"

Rachel sighed, glancing over to the guy again before shaking her head. She didn't understand why Rachel's being like this, so standoffish and blatantly refusing to give her information. Wasn't the whole night about introducing Brooke to the world that they resided in so regally? Wasn't tonight her mock coming out?

"Because he's bad news, alright? He's a no good heartless bastard." Rachel said bluntly.

"For fuck's sake, Rachel." Brooke heaved, pouting slightly. "What's his name? Or is that too _bad_ for me to hear?"

"I'm more afraid that I'll wake the dead if I repeat it." Rachel muttered, taking a swig of her drink.

"If you don't tell me, I'll go over there and ask him." Brooke countered, folding her arms across her chest.

Rachel glared at her, her eyes narrowing. "Bitch," she muttered helplessly before giving in, letting out another angry sigh. "His name's Nate Archibald."

Brooke was surprised the name didn't ring a bell; she had always known Chuck's friends quite well. Of course they had been a string of druggies, boozers and socialites, but she had been on a first name basis with them none the less.

"And this is...his party." Rachel continued on, frowning dramatically.

"How do you know him?" She asked without skipping a beat, curious.

Rachel smirked, looking over at him and waving slightly. He returned the gesture, giving her a nod before looking at Brooke once more. It set her skin on fire all over again, biting her lower lip as she smiled.

"He and Ch-"

"Gattina!"

Brooke turned her head to see an unfamiliar male swooping Rachel, who was screaming with giggles, into his arms and completely changing the subject.

God damn it. And she had been _so _close to getting every last bit of information that Rachel new about her mystery man out of her.

"Baizen!" She squealed back in a very not Rachel Gattina like manner, causing Brooke to kink an eyebrow.

_Baizen_. Where did she know that name from? It seemed so familiar, like she was so used to hearing it.

"Tell me, my favorite red haired vixen, where has your man been hiding you," the man paused as his eyes drifted over to Brooke, who was casually looking him over with a coy smile, and glazed over in want as soon as he caught a look of her. He was handsome, she'd admit that, with his gray-blue eyes and the way that he carried himself as if he owned the room.

Now she remembered. Carter Baizen, trust fund brat and Chuck's number two when it came to partying. He had always been running in and out of the house when she came to stay for the summer, usually dropping off her drunk stepbrother and then raiding their fridge. He was the apple of Bart's eye for his father's company, but the bane of Victoria's existence for his reputation as a wild child. There wasn't a single moment that their mother wasn't bashing Chuck for his choice of company, and the one that was the direct target for her words was usually Carter.

"And who is this _intoxicating_ creature."

"This," Rachel said as she looked at her, "is Brooke Davis, Chuck's stepsister. She just transferred to NYU."

He grinned, laughing. "Little Brooke Davis that we always left at home by the ice queen's orders?"

Brooke's eyebrow kinked, taking a step closer to the pair. Her confidence, which was increasing with each sip of her drink, shone through as she looked up at him. "Do I look little to you, _Baizen_?"

He eyed her up with a satisfied grin, shaking her his head as did so. "You, Brooke Davis, are _anything _but little in that dress."

Giggling with happiness, Brooke grinned with accomplishment, tossing back another swig of her drink. Rachel smirked at the man for a moment, quite amused with her friends, before shaking her head.

"I'm going off to find Chuck!" She announced with a suggestive look at Brooke, gesturing to the man with a raised eyebrow and a wink. "Don't hurt him too much, Brookie!"

And just as quick as the man had come, Rachel was gone, hunting for her love and Brooke's stepbrother.

"Brooke Davis…" Carter practically purred, taking a step closer to her as Brooke's eyes followed his. "You certainly grew up." He murmured, his hand resting on the bar as he invaded her personal space.

Her heart was screaming at her to run off, that she loved Lucas and that she needed to go back to him, that Carter wasn't looking for anything but a good romp in the sheets (which she knew per his reputation). But she remained where she was, downing the rest of her drink for a little liquid courage and handing it to him with a grin.

"Why in fact I did. It seems you did too, Carter." Brooke said with a smirk. "And I'm also now a girl in need of another drink, if you don't mind making me one?" Brooke flirted back, her hand settling on the his bicep. "A screaming orgasm, please."

He smirked at her choice of poison, his eyes dragging up and down her figure like a predator eying up its prey. The part of her that was used to having a boyfriend felt violated, but single Brooke absolutely _loved _the attention. "How could I refuse?" Carter said in that seductive tone of his as he moved behind the bar, making her another drink.

But if she remembered the stories of Carter Baizen correctly, that was just his friendly tone.

She took a breather as he did so, looking out upon the party. Chuck and Rachel were holding court on the other side of the room, her sitting upon his lap with a drink in her hand and his hand resting upon her thigh. They looked content, like a real couple. It was hard to believe that just a year ago he was sending random sluts out of his room at all hours of the night.

"One screaming orgasm." He said as he handed her the concoction. "Now, how does an innocent Carolina girl like Brooke Davis wind up in a place like this?" He asked her as he resumed his position, caging her in against the wood with his debonair smile.

Brooke laughed, taking her drink. "Innocent? You amuse me, Carter." She crooned, her hand rested on his chest as her head moved beside his, close enough to whisper into his ear. "We both know I've never be the innocent little girl Victoria's always wanted me to be..."

- - - - - x - - - - - -

An hour later, and Brooke had finally left Carter to make her eighth drink after bumming a cigarette off of his friend - what was her name, Pippa? It was something like that, Brooke knew, as she walked out onto the balcony of the place. The music from inside poured out of the doorway softly as she shivered in the New York air, cursing the weather. For a moment, she missed Charleston, simply because it was always warm.

And it was at that moment, as she was shaking like a junkie jonesing for its next fix, that she didn't have a lighter.

"Fuck!" Brooke muttered to herself, turning to head back in. She could just as Pippa, if that was even her name, for hers, and all would be well.

But instead, she turned to find the one and only Nate Archibald standing in the doorway, staring her down as if she was the last woman on earth. Brooke froze immediately, paralyzed by his gaze in the middle of the balcony. Those eyes, those gorgeous eyes that gave her shivers, seemed to be looking right through her. It was as if her perfect appearance didn't matter, simply because with one look, Nate Archibald could see straight into the depths of her soul.

"Need a light?" He asked her carelessly.

Three words. Three simple, little commands and her heart was jack-hammering the walls of her chest.

"Yeah." She said back quietly, her hand reaching out for the lighter.

But like the gentleman he was, Nate flipped open his zippo and lit it for her himself, because he was just that kind of man that lit up girls for his own pleasure, apparently. Brooke wondered for a moment if she was even allowed to address the supposed dark prince of the Upper East Side by his first name, if she had to call him Mr. Archibald or Nathaniel or something. God, what was she thinking? This wasn't some lord that had just walked off a flight from England, this was just Nate Archibald.

But then again, he may as well have been a king in her eyes in that moment as his eyes cut through the smoke like knives and pierced through her already wounded front.

"So," he said as she inhaled the nicotine laced smoke, pulling out his own cancer stick and lighting it for himself. "How does Chuck Bass's little stepsister wind up in my penthouse?" Nate asked with a smirk.

Brooke noticed that his eyes never left hers, not even to take in her appearance. His gaze was different than Carter's; it thrilled her, interested her, excited her. There was nothing perverted or sleazy about it. For the first time that night, she actually felt like someone wasn't trying to shimmy up her dress. And even though she was repulsed by the word little, Brooke refused to let her own pride ruin her five minutes with Nate Archibald.

"How do you know who I am?" She countered, smugly smiling back. Brooke didn't cower in front of him; why would she? If she could take on Victoria and Richard Davis, then deal with Bart Bass on a daily basis, then this would be a piece of cake. Or at least, so she assumed for the sake of her sanity. She couldn't take anymore games, not tonight at least.

Nate laughed, pulling in a drag of his cigarette. She observed the way that his lips pressed delicately to the filter, wondering if that was how he looked when he kissed someone. Her skin grew hot for a moment, but she silenced the fire that fills her, dousing the flames with the bitter notion that this was not a man to go gaga for. Nate Archibald, from what she had seen, was a man that many women fawned over, but none claimed.

He pulled away from her, slowly walking around her as he proceeded to answer her.

"It doesn't take much to recognize the stepsister Chuck's been keeping hidden away from all of us." He said in a gravelly voice, smiling at her. It was an honest, true smile, and she decided right then and there that she enjoyed his smile far more than the lopsided half-moon grin she's seen prior.

He was circling her now, watching her intently. It felt as if he could see straight through her facade, that he knew her inside and out just from one look.

"Beautiful, fierce, and independent...just as all those who had met you said you were."

He halted his stride, his eyes latching onto hers. Brooke smiled back at him as he took a step closer, silently gazing up at him as the very air around her seemed to charge itself with his energy. She pondered the idea that Nate Archibald may have been a god as she felt as if the wind had torn away her breath with absolutely no mercy.

"And you certainly don't disappoint, Brooke Davis." He murmured, his eyes searching her face for something he had yet to find.

As he got closer, she did the same, peering through the haze that their cigarettes gave off and studying his handsome features. His cheeks were prickled with stubble, his hair messily kept and his black suit wrinkled. He gave off the feeling that he cared about nothing, that none of this mattered to him. Everything about Nate looked as if he'd just risen from bed, like he'd put no effort into making himself look good. Not that he had to, anyway. He was perfect in his own right.

"I could say the same for you, Nate Archibald." She said huskily, her voice husky and seductive as she looked up at him.

His lips curled up into a smile, raising an eyebrow as if to challenge her.

She liked it.

"And what have you heard about me?"

Brooke shrugged effortlessly, pulling in a deep breath of her cigarette and flicking the ashes away. But her eyes met his, their locked stares battling for dominance in that moment. They were two forces of nature, two intensely powerful souls, colliding together. She wouldn't have doubted that the people stories and stories beneath them could see the sparks.

"I've heard that you're bad news." She said softly, her eyes falling upon his lips. They looked soft, sweet even, and Brooke couldn't help but wonder how they tasted. "That just by saying your name," Brooke paused, a grin appearing on her lips, "I could conjure up the devil and all his friends."

He laughed darkly, shaking his head as he never dropped her gaze. He leaned in close, as if he was about to tell her his deepest and most protected secret and whispered, "_that's because I am_."

The sound of his voice sent shivers down her spine, the heat of his breath warming the skin of her neck. It made her heart skip a beat, her entire body humming with excitement as she allowed him to remain as close to her as possible. She swore she could feel his body's warmth through her dress, her chest just grazing his in their close proximity.

"Brooke?"

She silently cursed as she heard Rachel's voice, turning her head to look at her as she walked up. "Rachel." She said through gritted teeth, smiling fakely. "I was just introducing myself to the host."

The redhead frowned, her judgmental eyes peering at them both. Brooke felt the urge to slap her again.

"We're leaving." Rachel said bluntly, glaring at Nate. The disapproval in her eyes was heavy, like she was aiming a set of knives right at his heart.

But Nate didn't even falter as he turned to Brooke, a grin spreading across his lips. "I guess your keeper's here to whisk you away, huh?" He asked her with a light laugh.

Brooke smirked at Rachel, who was so angry that it looked like her head was going to start spinning around in circles. She could practically see the steam coming out of her ears.

"Rach, you mind giving us a second?" Brooke asked, even though it was really more of a demand than anything.

Rachel opened her mouth to say something, but slowly shut it with a nod. It was as if there had been silent understanding amde between them both that he was no good, but it didn't matter. She was going to speak to whoever she wanted, and there was nothing that Rachel, who calmly walked back into the party without another word to them both.

"Yeah, I guess so." Brooke murmured, turning away from the direction Rachel had left and looking up at him with the softest of smiles.

"Can I see you again?" He asked her, and the hope in his voice made butterflies flutter away in her stomach.

Of _course _he could. He was Nate Archibald. He could have the whole word with a snap of his fingers if he wanted.

But Brooke knew better than to jump at the chance, shrugging gently. "If you're lucky." She said confidently.

He laughed, his head falling back against his shoulders as he shook his head. It lowered as he took a step closer, his hand slowly reaching up and pushing a stray strand of hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. The action was so sweet, so kind, so out of character for the man Rachel had told her about.

Perhaps he wasn't so satanic after all, as most assumed him to be.

"It was nice to meet you, Nate Archibald." Brooke said as she held out her hand for him to shake, polite and quaint in her actions.

He reached out, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. He kissed it with the lightest touch she'd ever felt, causing a pink to rise to her cheeks. Was Brooke Davis _blushing_? No, that was impossible.

Or at least it had been before she'd met him by a happy accident.

"It was wonderful to meet you as well, Brooke Davis." Nate said as he pulled away from her, his eyes still chained to her for one last moment before he was gone once more, surrounded by his sea of followers as he dove into the deep ocean of people once more.

Brooke stood there for a moment, her hand on her chest as she tried to catch her breath. Had she even been breathing before that moment? Had she been alive? Of course, she knew the answer was no. She hadn't been alive since she found out Lucas was getting married, and now...something had woken her up. Whether it be the vodka she'd drank, the people she'd met, or the undeserving slap that she'd thrown, _something_ had brung her back to life.

And maybe, just maybe, it was the wonder she'd felt from the beautiful blue eyed man she'd encountered tonight.

"Can we go now?"

Rachel's voice called her back from her moment of thought, turning back to her and nodding. "Yeah, I'm ready."

The two didn't speak as they wove back through the party, finding Chuck at the bar with a pal and dragging him out of Nate's building before collapsing into the limo. They were quiet the whole way home, Brooke gazing out the window at the New York lights and Rachel snuggling into her boyfriend's chest.

And for the first time, Brooke felt something that she had feared that she would never feel again after losing everything.

_Hope._


	3. You're Speaking A Dead Language

Morning. It was the time she dreaded the most, the moment when Brooke had to wake up and face the realization of where she was, and the effects that her decisions had caused upon her world.

And on that morning, when her golden flecked green eyes slowly opened to the light that had begun to stream through the blinds, it was still there. The pain still hung there in the air, like a toxic haze that she had to fight her way through. It lingered in her bones, a painful reminder of what she had done the night prior. She could barely even remember how many drinks she'd had.

But she could still feel the other sensation, the god given right to have hope clinging to her like a starving dream. Brooke could feel it just as much as she had the night prior in the backseat of her big brother's limo. It was the only reason why a smile managed to appear on her lips as she started to pull herself out of bed, stretching out like a cat in the sun. Bones pop, muscles loosen, and she rises like a phoenix from the ashes.

Or at least, that was how Chuck saw it as she stood in the doorway, dressed to the nines and late for a meeting. Rachel had been gone now for an hour or so, vigorously making sure that he would at least check in with his sister before he left – if he left, that was. She had said that last part yet, and he knew it was because she knew him like the back of her tiny hands. She was patient with him, with his need to keep Brooke so close to him in her moment in need. Rachel was always patient with him, it was why he loved her so god damn much.

"You're staring."

The innocent words were quiet, a bemused smile on his little sister's lips. Brooke looked at him the same way that she had when she was leaving for Duke, when she'd spent the summer in New York. He could practically see her suitcase right next to her, asking him if it was really time to go, still hearing himself begging her to stay, if only for him. He had known, he had just _known_ that little weasel of a man that she called Lucas would try and break her. But here she was again, sitting on the same bed with the same hopeful look in her eyes, and he was so happy that she was.

"You look different. From before, I mean." Brooke said softly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, which still had her diamond studs from the night before in them. "Happier, less...maniacal and devious."

He laughed, taking a step toward her. "I am happier, Brooke. She makes me happy."

The brunette smiled, standing up nice and slow. "I know. She makes me happy too. Rachel has a habit of bringing out it out of people, even if she has to ply them with tequila, like she has to do with me."

Chuck rolled his eyes. "She means well."

"She means to make me a lush." Brooke quipped back with a beloved smile, reaching out to him and cupping his cheek lovingly. "But you're right, she does mean well."

Chuck stroked her hand adoringly, a smile on his lips. "Nate Archibald doesn't."

Yes, he had to say it. He had to say his name, because it was like naming the feeling. Or at least, that was what his psychiatrist told him. Name the feeling, complete the feeling, nothing unresolved. Anger, rage, complete and utter disappointment. Those were the feelings that popped into his head when he thought of Nate.

Brooke frowned, withdrawing her hand from his cheek. "Rachel needs to learn to keep him mouth shut about certain things too."

His eyes were down cast as he shook his head. "He's-"

"Trouble from the day he stood up straight. I know, Chuck. It's not like I'm running off with him to get hitched. All I did was have a cigarette with him, for God's sake, said a few sentences at most." She said firmly.

She was so fucking stubborn, so bold and so willful, but he still loved her. "And that's where it should stay."

The frown stayed, forceful as a hurricane, eyes all afire. She was a wild stallion, one that would not be tamed, and so he simply changed the subject.

"We should go get you enrolled in classes today."

"I'm not going back to school."

"That's not up for discussion, Brooke." Chuck said firmly. "You need to finish school."

"I can't, not until spring, and you can't make me do it anyway." She folded her arms across her chest, raising her chin in an effort to look taller. "So I thought I'd call up Eleanor Waldorf today."

Fire. She was fucking fire coming up from the bellows, just begging for a little more air. Chuck could practically feel himself seething from the inside out. The Waldorf name made his stomach churn, bringing up old memories that just needed to stay buried deep within the Upper East's stomping ground. Too many secrets were hidden there, and he didn't need his darling little sister digging up all of the metaphorical bodies.

"Eleanor Waldorf?" Chuck asked, finding the idea almost incredulous.

Another roll of the eyes nearly sent him spinning in circles. "She's not the she-devil, Chuck. She's an established woman in fashion who I could learn something from. Just because her daughter's a raging bitch on wheels doesn't mean I can't talk to her mother."

He couldn't even find words.

"Sometimes, Davis, I really fucking hate you."

- - - - - x - - - - - -

Brooke stood in front of the Waldorf Designs suite, despite her brother's protests. Fucking Chuck. He could be such a pain sometimes, and this time had been one of the worst. She needed something more than classes, which she mostly just sat sketching in anyway. She had brought her portfolio with her, the black leather binding rubbing against the pastel blue fabric of her dress. The sheath dress was form fitting, but classic. The brunette had chosen the baby blue shade for its purity, its innocence, almost seeing the dress as a fresh slate for her. Untainted, unsoiled, perfect in every way.

Or maybe, it was because it reminded her of the color of Nate Archibald's vividly icy blue eyes.

She felt a rush wash over her, pulling at the strings that were keeping her bound together as she closed her eyes for a moment at the front desk. Why was he so intoxicating?

_"Beautiful, fierce, and independent…just as all those who had met you said you were."_

Brooke's breath hitched in her throat, her fingers stroking the side of her neck as she struggled to keep herself under control. A perfect stranger, that was what she had to think of him as. He was off limits, so fucking off limits, and somehow that made her want him so much more.

_"And you certainly don't disappoint, Brooke Davis."_

Fire reached through her veins, burning her insides like a miraculous poison. Brooke began to tap her perfectly pink Louboutin heels with an impatient ferocity. She was dying to see him again, literally fucking dying in a fashion company's lobby. A fashion company that she was attempting to get a job at. A job that she was supposed to be focusing on, not the idea of Nate's hands climbing up her bare skin as she gripped his shoulders and...

God, she was so royally fucked.

"Miss Davis?"

Brooke's head shot up at the sound of her name, praying that she wasn't sweating from the heat that seemed to be shooting out from beneath her skin. "Yes?" She squeaked out, clearing her throat as she stroked the bare skin there once more.

"Miss Waldorf will see you now, but she only has a few minutes." The petite assistant said snappily.

Brooke raised an eyebrow. What a little bitch, telling her what time she had with Eleanor. She had grown to feel a sense of entitlement once more, as she had once when she had adored the city she temporarily resided in. She was just about to respond, when the door to the only office in the floor opened.

"Abigail, are you trying to tell my beloved Brooklyn how long she has with me?"

The ever-elegant Eleanor Waldorf stepped out of her office like the vision she always had been. She was regal, a queen in her kingdom in a beautiful white pantsuit, her graying brown hair swept up into a chignon. She was effortless.

She was who Brooke wanted to be.

"Darling, don't be shy!" Eleanor said with open arms.

The queen wanted to hug her, the queen of the fashion world wanted to embrace her into her beautiful arms. Brooke could've fainted right then on the spot, if she didn't feel like her clothes were being ripped off by a figment of her imagination. Instead, she just walked over like a dutiful woman and kissed each other the fashion mogul's cheeks with a tight smile.

"Oh I've been just _dying_ to see you since I heard you were back in town from that Poppy girl, she's one of my models. Horrible nail biter, that one, but she said that she met you at some party. God, you're just simply ravishing, you get more beautiful every time I see you, and those shoes! I could just die! You're just all that everyone's been talking about and I'm just so happy that you've come…"

Brooke was still listening to the woman's aimless ramblings as they walked into her office, nodding every moment or so with a smile. She could hear every word her hopeful boss was saying – she was just too busy daydreaming of sweeping caramel locks and shrouded blue eyes to pay attention. Visions of experienced hands caressing her body filled her brain, wondering what it would be like to literally be fucked by a mystery, a legend, a social deviant.

Suddenly, the color blue didn't feel so pure and innocent as she had imagined it to be when Brooke had put her dress on this morning, but seductive and alluring. In her mind, blue was the color of danger, a shade of desire and intrigue.

"Now, why is it that you've come to see me, darling? A dress for an event? Oh I would just _die_ to design a dress for your figure."

Eleanor's ramblings brought her back, her focus back on defying her brother with work, not pleasure.

Silently, Brooke laid her carefully cultivated portfolio on Eleanor's coffee table, sitting back on the plushy loveseat with a sense of belonging, even if she was tapping her foot every two seconds. "These are my designs from the last four years. I have about two years left of design school, but I don't want to waste anymore opportunities with my life."

"Poignant." Eleanor murmured with a bemused smirk, maybe even interest, as she opened up the portfolio.

Brooke smiled. She had a foot in the door, a perfectly high heeled foot. All it took was the final push, or as Chuck called it, the clutch ending.

"I want you to hire me as your assistant designer."

The formidable fashion mogul didn't even look up, her eyes too focused upon sleek lines and shades of every color imaginable.

"Because you're Victoria's daughter?" Eleanor asked as her fingers traced one of the many sketches before her. "Or because of Charles Bass?"

She wasn't off to a good start, to say the lost. Too forward, her brother would've said, but Brooke remained confident.

"Because I'm talented, Eleanor. I'm driven, and I don't run from a fight."

The words tasted like acid on here tongue. The whole reason why she was here was because she was running from a fight, from an absolute clusterfuck in North Carolina that she had caused with her own impulsive and lustful decisions. But Brooke didn't let on a drop of doubt, not a glimpse of it. Her gaze was as strong as steel as Eleanor looked up from her designs, prepared for another volley of spiteful words from the queen of fashion. She needed to look powerful, to be desirable as an asset, not be spilling all of her problems to a family friend. This was business, plain and simple, and feelings were not allowed to be involved. That much she had learned from her stepfather and stepbrother, as well as her own mother. A head for business was practically a birthright, but she had somehow wound up creative.

"You're also young, inexperienced, and have never worked for anything in your life, thanks to your parents."

"Eleanor-"

"But that will change in time. Passion, desire, ferocity – those are things that don't, and from these designs and your words, it appears that you truly possess them."

Normally, she didn't enjoy sports, but the term "home run" seemed fitting for the moment.

Brooke contained her grin to a small and polite smile, nodding softly. "Thank you."

"You are in every morning at eight o'clock. There are no casual days, no sick days, and no excuses. You are at my beck and call whenever I require you. You will work your fingers to the bone for every design you are a part of, and you will be the image of perfection to every reporter on this earth."

"One question."

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, as if daring her to say the wrong thing, to give her time to rethink her decision to hire the young brunette.

Brooke met her fierce gaze, fearlessly facing a goddess that now had the power to pull her job out from beneath her feet, and all with a straight face. "Why me?"

Eleanor stood with a satisfied smile. "Because, my darling, you remind me of myself at your age." She reached out to Brooke, cupping her cheek gently and stroking her soft skin. "And while I may be fading into the past, you could be the future."

- - - - - x - - - - - -

Chuck sat in the bustling bar of Le Bernardin, sipping his highball of scotch to settle his agitation. He had called a meeting of the minds, disrupting his very busy schedule, and for one reason alone.

Fear.

It had accumulated in his body over the course of the day, seeping deeper into him with each and every move he made. All because of one man, or should he say, one memory, one ghost that continued to haunt him, no matter how hard he tried to shake it.

Dan Humphrey.

But even with the gravity of the situation, Chuck should've known better. He should've had the blessed wisdom to know better than to trust the man he was meeting with, of all people, to help him deal with the Nate situation. He was a slimy little one, a man that had masqueraded as a normal man when he'd actually been Gossip Girl, the one that had been constantly ruining their lives.

"Scotch, you must be absolutely petrified."

His overly ironic drawl sounded much more posh than it had when he had just been Lonely Boy, the simpleton that Chuck used to screw with for shits and giggles with Blair. Working at The New York Times had done that to him, Chuck supposed. One by-line about the rich and famous and their scandalous lives, and the little fucker was all up on a high horse. He wrote the society pages now, a job befitting someone of his sneaky stature.

Of all people, he was not one to be trusted, but at this moment he was the only person that Chuck could imagine would help him with his current situation. He too, after all, had a bone to pick with Nate Archibald. After all, he had stolen Serena from Dan, run off with her for a few weeks in the South of France, and by the time she had made it back to New York, she was emotionally broken from Nate's supposed antics.

Dan had married her anyway, Chuck surmised from the gold band on his ring finger. "I hear congratulations are in order for the young bride and groom. How is Serena, by the way?" Chuck chided, smugly smirking.

"She's in Monaco, staying with Blair I think. My wife does love your ex, and her husband too. Louis treats her a lot better than you ever did."

"I liked you better when you were anonymously chasing after my life secrets, Humphrey." Chuck growled, tipping back his glass and swigging what was left in it. "You were much easier to control then."

"Then why bother calling? What, have a fancy party that you need in the papers?" Dan snorted, a smug smirk on his lips as he sat beside Chuck, raising his hand for the bartender, who quickly brought him a glass of his own. "Or do you need me to dig up dirt on someone?"

"Brooke is home."

The reporter went silent, his smirk dropping. You could've heard a pin drop between the two of them, the silence so overwhelming that it would have consumed lesser men, chewed them up and spit them up. Brooke Davis's name had a habit of causing that, it seemed.

"You said she was staying at Duke. That she wouldn't be back for a least a few more years, till she graduated." Dan said quietly, sipping his scotch. "You said we wouldn't have to worry about this for years, cause of that jock she was head over heels for, that she probably wouldn't even come to New York."

"Well that backfired, since her little shit of an ex-boyfriend decided to put his dick where it didn't belong. And now she's back, and she has no idea that you're even still here."

"You promised that I would have time, Chuck. Serena has no idea about her, and neither does Jenny. I'm not ready for everything to come out."

"Cause I am? You think I want my little stepsister to know that she has a fucking _sibling_? That everything she knows is literally fucked because her mom screwed around on her dad with your little Brooklyn daddy?"

The words slipped from his mouth like venom, like pure acid. Dan glared at him, but didn't move. There wasn't much else to say, really. That was the whole reason why he had called him here, to make sure that when Dan accidentally ran into Brooke – which he was sure would happen at some point, considering his job and who she was in society – that he wouldn't accidentally spill the beans. They had only known for about the last year or two, when Victoria had come to him with news that Brooke had planned to move to New York after graduation.

_Victoria Davis was trembling in front of him as the elevator to the penthouse she shared with Chuck's father, Bart having headed out of town for a meeting in Monaco regarding their new hotel. She had called Chuck in hysterics, he had sworn that she had killed someone on the way over, that there was no other reason that the ice queen could be so unreasonably upset._

_ "What the flying fuck is going on, Victoria?" Chuck had said as he poured her a glass of scotch, handing it to her in an effort to calm her nerves. _

_ When she swallowed it completely, he knew that something was really wrong._

_ "Brooke called." She said softly, handing him her glass to refill, which he did obediently._

_ "What's wrong? Did something happen? If it's the stupid fucking idiot screwing with her again, I'll fucking ki-"_

_ "It's not Lucas. That's not what's going on."_

_ "Then what it is it?" She swallowed another fifth of the amber liquid, looking up at him with shame. "Brooke wants to move here after college. Jump start her fashion career and stay with you."_

_ "What's the problem with that?" Chuck asked angrily, thinking that she was trying to keep him away from his young stepsister. That wouldn't go over too well with him._

_ "There are some things that Bart and I haven't told you." She said as she collapsed into one of the oversized armchairs. "About before we got married, before Brooke was born."_

_ Chuck raised an eyebrow. Maybe Brooke was actually his sister. Maybe it hadn't been random women that his father had continuously been cheating on his mother with, maybe it was his current stepmother. He couldn't say that he would be upset._

_ She sighed, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "When I was married to Brooke's father, I had an affair with a man in New York. I was in love, I was planning to leave Ted, but then…" She paused. "Ted never found out because I came back to him, but it was only when I found out I was pregnant."_

_ "Victoria, why are you telling me this?" They had never been close, not like this. None of it made sense. "If Brooke is Bart's daughter, I don't care. I'd be thrilled."_

_ "The man I had an affair with was not your father. It was Rufus Humphrey."_

_ Silence crept in for a moment. Chuck tried to process what she had just said, trying to understand how a woman like Victoria had come upon an affair with a man like Rufus. He was so different than their life, from the woman before him. How their relationship would have even come to be amazed him all in itself._

_ "That's why you named her Brooklyn."_

_ Victoria nodded with a small, sad smile. "I thought she should have some piece of her father. But then when she turned ten, your father and I got together, and I thought I would just be better if she assumed that either Ted or Bart was her father. She had already been through enough trauma with the divorce, she didn't need-"_

_ "To know that she was the product of an affair." Chuck murmured, raking his fingers through his hair. "Does Dan know?"_

_ "He was cleaning out Rufus's apartment and found love letters, baby pictures of Brooke. I tried to at least give some part of her to her father, but I never expected anyone to find out. After all, Rufus was married with two kids to that repulsive artist." Victoria looked up at him with pleading eyes. "You have to do something about Dan, Chuck. She can never know. It would ruin her. She's a Davis…that's just who she was born to be. She's not ready for something like this."_

And so he'd handled it. He'd gotten Humphrey a golden ticket into all of the big stories for his silence, got him hired at the time and even gave him occaisional information on Brooke too. Dan seemed more sentimental about it all, just wanting to know his little sister. After all, Jenny was a fuck up, in and out of rehab up in Connecticut. Chuck could see why Dan wanted a connection, but he had made him promise to wait until Brooke came back from school. It would give him some time to be ready, to be what she would expect him to be as her brother.

The truth was, Chuck knew that Brooke wouldn't care if Dan was a homeless bum, not if she found out that he was her brother. Family was everything to her, and honesty meant even more. If it came out that he had known about Dan and not told her…Brooke would never speak to him again, and that wasn't a risk he could take.

"I need you to promise me that neither you, or your father will interfere with her life until I say it's time." Chuck murmured quietly, swirling his liquor. "She just had her heart crushed by some stupid fuck who didn't know how to keep his mouth shut. I don't need another one ruining her shot at a happy life here."

"Is that it?"

"I need you to keep an eye on Nate Archibald. He seems to have taken a liking to Brooke, and I need that to go away quickly." Chuck looked over at him sternly. "She deserves better than him, so show her that in page six. Anything bad about him crosses your desk, but it in print."

Dan nodded, the same sad smile that had been on Victoria's lips so many months ago on his. "I just want to know her, Chuck. I'm not going to use her. I'm not you, remember?"

Chuck shook his head, setting down his glass and throwing a few bills on the bar. "Just do as you're told, Humphrey. Your time will come, and you can tell your dad that too. Victoria's just not ready to tell her."

"And if I bump into her while I'm working?"

Chuck stayed his movements, looking down at Lonely Boy, who seemed to really still live up to his name.

"She's just another socialite to get an interview with until I say otherwise. Now be a good boy, run home to daddy and give him his marching orders. I don't need either of you fucking this up." He said coldly, walking away from the bar without another word, practically running out of the door.

Chuck didn't even realize his hands were shaking until he opened up his town car's door, leaning his head against the cool metal to quell his nausea. He reminded himself one more time that he was doing this for the right reasons, that Brooke wasn't ready yet, and steadied himself.

He was doing this for her own good.

- - - - - x - - - - - -

Brooke walked out of Waldorf Designs with a smile on her face, a true honest to goodness smile. She found herself wondering when the last time she had smiled this was, unable to find the precise time until she saw the man who had given it to her before her very eyes.

Staring at her through the massive crowds of people that were crisscrossing the sidewalks, Nate Archibald leaned against the car like the devil himself, inviting her to join him for a tumble down into the depths of hell. He looked rather dashing in his crisp black suit - Tom Ford, of course. She could spot it from a mile away, and she was sure that by this point, he knew that she could do so. Men like Nate did their research, above all else.

The brunette tried to remember that he wasn't what she imagined him to be as she walked towards him, that there were no illusions about the content of his character. He was a bad person, according to everyone else, but she didn't seem to mind. At least he was open about it.

After all, Lucas was supposed to be the good guy, the safe choice, and look how that turned out. He had lied, cheated, and gotten engaged to the one person who could hurt her more than anyone else. She smirked a little bit, half because of the pain and half because of the man waiting for her.

Didn't men just understand that women simply wanted someone to be _honest_ with them? Was that such a foreign concept?

Brooke sighed, shaking off her past's demons as she walked closer to her very own blue eyed devil. He was smiling, now, his subtle grin lopsided as he looked over at him. _Fuck_, did he look good. She wondered if he just rolled out of bed like that, if she'd ever get the chance to see what he looked like in the early hours of the morning. God damn it all, there she went again, imagining things that didn't work with men like the one before her - or at least, the man who had been described to her by society pages and her best friend.

"Mr. Archibald." Brooke said with a small smile of her own. "Should I be concerned for my safety? You seem to have a knack for keeping tabs on me."

Nate chucked darkly, his eyes focused in on her like she was the only one in the crowd. She felt a chill go down her spine, dangerous and seductive as he pulled himself away from his car, taking an extra step closer to her. "Not nearly, Miss Davis. I had a meeting with one of Eleanor's associates, and saw you in the office." He leaned closer, his lips right beside her ear. "You're very hard to miss in that gorgeous dress, in case you didn't know."

Brooke held back the shiver that nearly shattered her, her knees feeling weak from the sensation of his breath on her skin before he pulled away. If they had been anywhere but here, she would have just collapsed into his arms and ripped every inch of clothing from what seemed to be a near perfect body. He was torturing her, she was sure of it as he looked down at her with satisfaction. She couldn't even make out full words at that moment, terrified that if she opened her mouth it would be utter gibberish.

"Have lunch with me." Nate practically demanded, not one part of his statement sounding like a question.

Brooke laughed, her head falling back against her shoulders as she actually let herself do so. "Let no one say that Nate Archibald isn't forward."

"I like to consider myself very aggressive when it comes to the things that I desire." He said with a grin as he opened the door of the town car to her. "For instance, having lunch with a beautiful woman to celebrate her new position. Congratulations, by the way."

She eyed the opening warily, her eyebrow kinked as she debated her options. It was unfair, the way that he made her feel like she could scarcely breathe with just one look. He was intense, to say the least, and just the mystery of it all had her swept up into its wake. He was devastatingly handsome, dangerously so, but she wasn't the least bit terrified.

He was absolutely, positively hypnotic, and she found it impossible to tear her eyes off of him.

Brooke looked back at him, still debating on getting into the car or not. "They say you're bad for me, you know." She said coyly, looking up into his eyes. She was searching for something, some way to read the impossible man that stood before her. "Rachel, Chuck, even Carter. They all say that one step in your direction could ruin my life."

Nate smirked, looking down at her in a way that it seemed, only he could. "To be quite honest, you don't seem like the type of woman that's scared off from danger."

"And what kind of woman am I, then?"

His smirk deepened, and she resisted the urge to run her fingers over the soft curves of his lips. He was tantalizing, and she was fucking _hooked_.

"You..." Nate paused, pushing a stray hair away from her cheek and tucking it behind her ear. "You're fearless, but you need someone to push you to your limits. You're passionate, ridiculously beautiful, mysterious as can be. And you, Brooke Davis, are the most intriguing woman that I've ever met in a very long time."

Brooke could've just died right there, just out of satisfaction. She was used to hearing long and lengthy speeches praising her and the love that someone had for her. She had dated Lucas Scott, for Christ's sake, the king of weaving his words around to get what he needed. But this was different. It was as if Nate had reached somewhere deep inside of her and found the very fabric of her soul, and just recited everything she needed to hear. Mysterious, beautiful, passionate, fearless...where had this man been when she had been whoring around through the senior class of Tree Hill, where the compliments stretched as far as how "fucking hot" she was? Did men like this just sprout out of the ground, or were the actually raised by someone?

She couldn't even get a word out, a breathless smile gracing her lips as they just stood there, waiting for her to process everything that he had just said. Brooke was just about ready to slide into the backseat of his town car, when she heard a shout across the sidewalk corner.

"Brooke!"

Her eyes slipped shut, muttering a soft _"fuck"_ as she turned to find Rachel standing at a car of her own, her glare hot as fire.

Rachel was pissed, to say the least. Brooke could practically feel the steel of her gaze from ten feet away, a distance which quickly closed as she sauntered over like the little bitch that she found her to be at that moment.

"We have a lunch reservation, remember?" Rachel said with a tight lipped grimace, looking over at her friend's counterpart. "Archibald."

Nate tipped his head, acknowledging her. There was some sort of tension between the two of them that Brooke didn't understand, couldn't. She supposed it was something that she wasn't allowed to know, something that Chuck hadn't allowed her to be privy to. But the way Rachel looked at him, it was like there had been a nuclear bomb had gone off somewhere in the space between them, and she was just coming in as the radioactive haze was dissipating.

Brooke felt like she was in the middle of a gunfight, but both revolvers were pointed at her. Her hand immediately rested on Rachel's shoulder, trying to restrain her from pouncing on him. She knew how catty the redhead could be. "Nate was just congratulating me, Rachel. Eleanor hired me on as her assistant designer, isn't that wonderful?" She said with a solid glare of her own.

"How kind of him." Rachel managed to get out through gritted teeth, her hand wrapping around Brooke's arm. "We should go, though. Wouldn't want to keep Carter waiting, now would we?"

Nate snorted, and Brooke shot him the same dirty look over her shoulder. "So you're dragging her away from me and into the arms of _Carter Baizen_? Jesus Christ, Chuck. Have a little class if you're going to decide who she can and can't see."

"Watch you mouth, Nate." Rachel hissed over Brooke's shoulder, and the latter could barely restrain her friend. She was jumping for a fight, aching for it, and Nate was just absolutely _dying_ to give it to her from the looks of it.

"Or what, Rachel? You'll claw my eyes out?" Nate grinned from ear to ear, stepping back towards his car. "Have a good afternoon, ladies. Let's do this again sometime, except without Red."

Brooke couldn't even turn her head to watch him going, having to keep her hands on Rachel so that she didn't jump over her and try and get into the car. Her friend was as red as her hair, and in her black dress, she looked about as demonic as could be.

"You need to fucking calm down, Raye." She snapped in her face, dropping her hands as if she was even hotter than her face was. "Because this is _not_ what I want here. I don't want to be set up on blind dates with Carter, especially when I don't even fucking _know_ about them."

"Because _Nate Archibald _is your fucking answer to all of your problems? He's gonna be the one that makes everything better?" Rachel laughed in her face, shaking her head. "He's a fucking train wreck, B. You just sa-"

_"I AM A GODDAMN TRAIN WRECK."_

The words rung out like a fire alarm in a crowded school, Brooke screaming it at the top of her lungs. She was panting, the words lifting a burden so heavy that she felt like she could actually be. It brought her a perverse pleasure to actually admit that, to let the world around her know that she was not okay. She was not the perfect socialite that this world expected her to be, that page nine assumed she was. Her eyes were wild with the fear of the unknown, with the fear of being vulnerable in front of Rachel, and the silence was compounding between them.

"I know that you and Chuck are trying to pretend like everything is fine, and that's great for the two of you." Brooke said softly. "But I am _not_ the perfect little sister that you want me to be, and you need to stop acting like I am."

"But-" Rachel began, but Brooke held her hand up, stopping her dead in her tracks.

"But nothing." Brooke snapped forcefully, her hand turning into a pointed finger. "You and Chuck can disapprove all you want, but you do not get to control who I can and can't see, or who I can work for. Nate may be a dick to you, but that's your own shit that you need to settle."

"Brooke, you don't understand what he's done to Chuck. If you did, you would never-"

"I don't care!" Brooke shouted at the top of her lungs once more. "I don't care what he's done to Chuck, or to you, or to anyone for that matter. He makes me feel just the tiniest bit less broken, because he's the only one that doesn't treat me with kid gloves on. So back off, or you and Chuck can go back to a life without me in it. Permanently."

She turned on her heel, walking away from Rachel, who was shouting out her name over and over again, trying to get her to come back. But Brooke just kept on walking, and even in her four inch heels, it felt better than getting into the car and go to an arranged date of sorts. She felt strong, like some form of herself was slowly coming back to her. She didn't know if it was Nate, or standing up to Rachel, or even just the new job.

Brooke Davis was fucking _back_.


End file.
